THE ADVENTURES OF BARNACLE THE BARSTOOL



OOC: Here's a little something I cooked up to amuse my fellow PermMid rp'ers... I'm just a little bored and decided to make this up.  Nerissa says she is OK with this, but I leave this for the other two admin if they don't like it...It became semi-IC after I made some changes to the original story which was a post of mine in a different rp (that turned out to be a venting zone for sexually repressed teenagers... *shudders*). Hopefully, you'll enjoy this as much as I did in writing it and my friends in reading it. Without further ado, here it is, The Adventures of Barnacle the Barstool (Part 1)!




For most sentient beings, life begins a frenzy of frightening sounds and blinding light. Bedazzled in the splendor of a metropolitan hospital, they cry their first greedy demand for air, nourishment, and a good belly rub.

(Of course for some, this is a daily occurrence broken only with the intermittent desire for catnip and a chewtoy.)

For the ignomius barstools, life generally begins in the ACME Alcoholic Funiture Factory south of the greater city of New York (2).

(Until one evil day when the plant was shut down by the evil management. In an epic story truly befitting Disney, the valiant workers led by Joe Ludd converted the plant into a pasture where he and his fellow employees worked until the end of their days.)

For a soon-to-be famous sentient barstool, life began not with the hospital amid gawking onlookers or the grinding of the ACME Alcoholic Furniture Factory. Life began in the sleepy drunken haze of the Entrophobic. A little known bar just across the street from its cousin the Entropy. Although the Entrophobic is small in size and number of patrons, it has remained relatively prosperous from the spillout of the neighboring Entropy where it is a daily occurrence for would-be patrons to be turned down and kicked out.

It is in this bar that, perchance, a stray blast of transmorgrifying magic from a drunk Fey introduced the out of way little barstool to life. Moments passed as the small barstool mused about his new found intelligence and the slowly setting oily stain upon him.

His silent musing are quickly interrupted as a portly old fellow decided to rest his sweaty feet upon the newly self-aware barstool.

Naturally, being born and bred from the gritty bar of a most motley selection of patrons, the young stool knew nearly every obscene word in more than 100 languages (including several not found on Earth).

50 or so came out in the span of about 5 minutes drawing the attention of even the drunk knocked-out chaps in the darkened corners of the room.

Several moments of silence passed until finally the portly old man managed to utter: "By Blistering Barnacles! A talking stool!"

The young stool blushed. Or came close to blushing if it wasn't for the rather one sidedness of his colour. Never had he been the centre of attention unless during a rather nasty bar fight when he was used as an improvised weapon.

A second awkward silence followed as the collective brains of nearly every race of creature in the world pondered upon the wonder of the talking stool. For a single collective moment, 'get rich quick' schemes of all sorts danced across or at least stumbled across the minds of nearly everyone in the room.

(As was the case with some of the patrons)

Sensing the sudden change in the crowded bar, our fine young barstool performed a feat that was quite beyond anything an object of similar quality has ever done. He made a dash for the door.

The tiny clattering of his feet were quickly drowned out by the shuffling sound of nearly every greedy patron in the room. Each trying to catch this wonder of wonders in hopes of gaining some yet unclaimed wealth in the world.

By strange luck and, more likely, plain stupidity, the myriad bedazzled patrons slammed against each other as they pushed and shoved towards the escaping barstool.

A single creak came with a resounding slam as the door announced the exit of the tiny stool to the confused and bewildered group of patrons.

Disappearing in a nearby alley and the cold night, the barstool gained a chuckle from the Fates.

Were the small stool to have tarried for just a moment longer, he would have seen that he single handedly started the largest bar fight in recorded history, which consequently led to the demise of several human and Chimaera nations whose dignitaries were unlucky enough to be caught in the fighting.

But, as the fight began, the small stool was already far away enough to hear only the rustling newspaper and the clanging of neglected garbage cans in the alleys.

In the silence of the night, our young barstool once more pondered upon his newfound life and even newer freedom. In the ritual of all sentient creatures, the barstool looked up at the quicksilver moon, as the first ape and Chimaera did, and he named himself.

"Barnacle... I like the sound of that... I believe that that is as good a name as any... yes..."


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